Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 144 — page 42: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ee = —_—— -_-- = —--+ -—-+-4 -_—s ~— -—=- > SS See — Sl ——= E . ie i - < - game D | oar that was!” 42 cade was brilliant, and the pavement rang beneath their tread. “ How you eye that officer!’’ said Gringoire to the “T rather think I know him.” ‘ ‘‘ What is his name?’ . 7.5 “T believe,” said Claude, “his name is Phebus de Chateaupers.” , , “Phebus, a curious name! There is also a Phe- bus Comte de Foix. I once knew agirl who never swore but by Phebus.” “Come this way!” said the priest, “I have some- thing to say to you.” Ever since the appearance of the archers, some agi- tation was perceptible under the frozen exterior of the archdeacon. He walked on, followed by Gringoire, who was wont to obey hiin, like all who had ever ap- proached him, suclf was the ascendancy which he ex- ercised. They proceeded im silence to the Rue des Bernardinus, where @ casual passenyer only was at times to b- seen. Here Dom Clauce stopped short. wore ; What have” you to say to ime, master?’ inquired Gringovire. “Don't you think,” said the archdeacon, with a look of deep reflection, ‘‘that the dress of those archers, who have just passed is finer than yours or mine?” ~ Gridyoire shook his head. “ By my fay! I like my red and yellow jacket better than those’ shells of iron and steel. 4 sorry pleasure, to make at every step the se that the Ironmongers’ Quay would do in an eartliquake !"’ “Then, Gringoire, you have never envied those comely tellows in their habiliments of war ?’’ “Envied thein! for what, Mr. Archdeacon? for their strength, their armor, their discipline? Far prefera- ble are mafosop hy and independence in rags. I hal rather be the head ofa fiy than’ the tail of a 9° ' . “That is singular!” said the priest, thoughtfully. ‘‘A goodly uniform is nevertheless goodly.” Gringoire, seeing him absorbed in thought, left him, and went up to the porch of a neighboring house. Presently he returned, clapping his hands. “If you were so deeply engayed with the goollly uniforms of the men-at-arms, Mr. Archdeacon, I would beg you to go and look at the door. I always said that the entrance to the Sieur Aubrey’s house is not to be matched all the world over.” é * Pierre Gringoire,” said the arcéhdeacon, “ what have you done with the young Egyptian dancing ‘La Eemeralda? Why, how abrubtly you change the versation |’’ * she not your wife?” . ‘Yes, after a fashion; by means of a broken jug we we were joined together for four years. By-+the-by,” added Gringoire, with half epg tone and look, “you seem to be always thinking of her.” “ And do you think of her now ?”” ! “Very little. Lamso busy! But what a charming not that Bohemian save your life?” s ae engaah, by'r Lady ?’” Well, what is become of her? what have you, done with her ?’’ “IT can’t tell. I believe they hanged her!” . “You believe ?” “Tam notsure. When I saw that they were deter- mined to hang somebody, I got out the way.” ‘Ia that all you know about the matter?” “Stopa moment! I was told that she had taken sanctuary in Notre-Dame, and that she was safe there, which I was very glad to hear; but I have not been able to ascertain whether her goat was saved along with her—and that is al] I know about the matter.” “I can tell you more, then,” cried Dom Claude, his voice, hitherto low almost to a whisper rising to the loudness of thunder. “She has actually taken sanc- tuary in Notre-Dame. Butin three days Justice will seize her, and she will be hanged in the Greve. ‘ue Parliament has issued a decree.’ "That ie a pity |’ said Gringoire. oe In the twinkling of an eye the priest had relapsed into his former coldness and tranquillity. _ “And,” résumed the poet, “when the devil has amused himself with soliciting an order of restitution ? Why could they n6t let the Parliament een? What harm is there if a poor girl does seek shelter among the swallows’ nesta under the flying buttresses of Notre-Dame.” “ There are satans in the world,” rejoined the arch- n. : “Tis infernally cross-grained |"? observed Gringoire. .” Then she did save your life?’ resumed. the arch- deacon, after a pause, ‘That was among my very good friends, the Vaga- bonds. She came in the nick of time, or Ishould have been hanged. They would have been sorry for it now,” * Will you then try to do something for her?” «I desire no better, Dom Claude, but perhaps I may get my own neck into an ugly noose |” “ What bignifies that ?" “What signifies it! You are exceedingly kind, master! I have just begun two great works.” Tue priest struck his forehead. Notwithstanding the composure which he affected, a violent gesture trom time to time betrayed his inward convulsions. ‘What can be done tu save her ?’”’ ‘ Master,” said Gringoire, “I answer, J/ padelt, which is Turkish for God is our hope.” ‘‘ What can be done to save her?’ repeated Claude, Gringoire, in his turn, struck his brow. “Hark ye, master, | haye no lack of imagination; I will devise expedients. Suppose we solicit the king’s pardon.’’ * Pardon of Louis XI. 1” “Why not ?’’ * Take the bone from the hungry tiger.’’ 7 | which is neither fish nor flesh, like the soul of the girl is pregnant, and demand an examination of matrons ?"’ life ?’’ felicity to pass all my feeling, Gringoire ; be generous in thy THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME. ee Gringoire cast about for other expedients. ‘Well, stop! Shall we make declaration that the The pupil of the priest’s hollow eye sparkled. ae dolt! Knowest thou aught to that pur- | pose ?”’ ' His look alarmed Gringoire. “Oh, no, not I!’’ he hastily replied. “Our marriage was literally jJoris- | maritagium —for I was shuf out. At any rate we should | obtain a respite.’’ ! “Stupid oaf! hold thy tongue !"’ ‘Nay, don't be angry,’ muttered Gringoire. ** One| might obtain a respite; that would harm nobody, and | would put torty deniers Parisis into the pockets of the | matrons, who are poor women.” The priest lreard him not. ‘At any rate,” he mut- tered, ‘she must away! The order must be executed in three days! Besides, if there were no order, that Quasimodo! Who can account for the depraved tastes of women !’’ Then raising his voice ; “ Master Pierre,”’ said lie, “I have well weighed the matter ; there is but one way to save her.” . ‘“‘And which? Ican see none for my part.’” “Hark ye, Master Pierre ; recollect that to her you owé yeur life. I will tell you frankly my idea. The church is watched night and day; only such «persons | as have been seen to enter are suffered to go out. You | must come, I will*take you to her, You ust change clothes with her.” “So far so good,” observed the philosopher. ‘And | then ?”’ | “Why then she will go away in yourclothes, and you will remain in hers. You will be hanged perhaps; but., she will escape.” ; Grinyoire rubbed his brow with a profoundly serious ook, “T declare,’ said he, “that is an idea which would never have come into my head of itself.” At this unlooked-for propositiom of Dom Claude's the open and good-humoréd countenance of the poet was overcast, like a smiling landscape of Italy, when some unlucky blast dashes a cloud upon the sun. « Well Gringoire, what say you to this expedient] “JT say, master, they will not hahny me perhaps, but they will hang me toa certainty.” “That does not conceru us." ‘The deuce |" exclaimed Gringoire. “She saved your life. “You are only paying a debt.” “How many of my debts besides that are unpaid ?”’ ‘Master Pierre, you absolutely must comply.” The archdeacon spoke imperatively. “Hark ye, Dom Claude,” replied the dismayed poet, “you cling to this idea; but you are quite wrong. I see ro reason why I should thrust my head into the halter instead of another.”’ ; ‘What is there then so strongly attaches you to “Why, a thousand things.” “ What are they? I would ask.” “What are they? The fresh air, the blue sky, morn- ing and evening, the warm sunshine, and the moon- light, my good friends the Vagabonds, our romps with works of Paris to study, three thick books to write— one of them against the: bishop and his mills—and I know not what besides. Anaxagoras said that he was in the world to admire thesun. And then,I have the days from morn to eventide with aman of genius, to wit, myself, which is exceedingly reeable.” “A head fit fora bdell!’’ mut the archdeacon. “Well, but tell me, who saved this life which is so charming to thee? To whom is it owing that thou yet breathest this air, beholdest that sky, and canst amuse thy lark's spirit with extravagances and follies? What wouldst thou be but for her? And yet thou canst suffer her to die—her, to whom thou owest thy life— her, that beautitul, lovely, adorable creature, almost as necessary to the light of the world as the sun himself ; whilst thou, half-sage, half-madman, rough sketch of something or other, a species of vegetable, who imagin- est thou canst walk and think, thou wilt continue to live with the life of which thou hast robbed her, as Nay, nay, have some useless as a candle at noonday ! . It Was she who set the example.” The priest was warm. Gringoire listened to him ut first with a look of indecision; presently he began to soften, and at last he put on a tragic grimace, which made his wan face look like that of a new-born infant which has the colic, “ You are pathetic,’’ said he, brushin “ Well, | will think about it. "Tis a droll idea, this of yours.” Pausing awhile, he continued: “ After | all, who knows! perhaps they will not hang me. | Betrothal is not always followed by marriage. When | they find me up yonder in the little cell, so grotesquely | attired in cap and petticoat, perhaps they will only | laugh. And then if they do hang me, why death by | the halter is like any other death, or correctly speak-— Itis a death worthy | his life; a. death | away a tear. ing, it is not like any other death, of the sage who has oscillated all downright skeptic: a death, impressed all over with Pyrrhonism and hesitation, which holds the middle place between heaven and earth, which leaves one in | suspense. It is a philosophic death, and perhaps I was predestined toit. "Tis magnificent to die as one has lived.’’ ‘he priestinterrupted him. “ Are we agreed ?” “After all, what is death !" continued Gringoire, in — the warmth ot his excitement. “ An unpleasant | moment, a toil, @ passage from little to nothing. | When some one asked Cercidas of Megalopolis if he should like te die. ‘Why not?’ he replied, ‘¢ for, after | death I shall see those great men, Pythagoras among | ! the good-natured damsels, the beautiful architectural Homer among the poets, and Olympus among the musicians.”’ The archdeacon held out his hand, “ It is setti«l then; you will come to-morrow ?’’ nity y This gesture, aud the question which accumpani«n: it brought Gringoire back from his digression. shrew me, no!’’ said he, in the tone of a man aw:k: i- ing irom sleep. ‘‘ Be hanged | too absurd {| 1 bey tr b» excused.”’ r" ; “ Farewell: then !"' and the archdeacon added, wut- tering between his teeth, “ I will find thee out aguin |’ ‘‘ 1 don't wish that fellow to find me again,”’ thought Gringoire, running atter Dom Claude. ‘Hold, Mr. Archdeacon, no malice between old friends! You take an interest inthat girl, my wife, I would say —qnuite right! You have devised a stratagem to withdraw her in safety trom. Notre-Dame, but to me your expe- dient is extremely disagreeable, A, capital i has just occurred tomes lt I could propose & method of extricating her from the dilemma without entang- ling my own neck in the smallest running -novose whatever—what would you say toit? would that satisfy you ? or must Labsolutely be hanged beture you are content ?’’- The priest tore off the buttons of his cassock with irritation. “ Eternal blabber! what is thy proposal?’ * Yes,”’ mesuimed Gringoire to himselt, and -clapping his fore finyer to his nose in the attitude ef meditation —" that’s it—sheds a favorite with the darkrace. They will rise at the first word. Nothing easier, A sudden attack. In the confusion, carry her away! ‘io-mor- row hight—they will desire nothing better.” “Your proposal! Let us hear!” said the. priest, shaking him. | —* & Grinyoire turned majestically toward him. ‘Leave me alone! you see 1 am, composing.’ Having consid- ered tor 4 tew moments longer, he clapped. ee. exclaiming: ‘‘ Adniirable ! sure to suc- ceed |"" " r * But the means ®’ inquired Claude, anyrily. Gyrin- goire's face beamed with triumph, ' ‘Come hither, then, and leud me your ear. ‘Tis a right bold counter-mine, which will get all of us ont of our trouble. By heavens! it must be contessed that lam no fool,’”’ : Foy ye short. ‘‘ By-the-by, is the little goat with e ‘Yes ?” ! Nag meant to have hanged her too—did they vo ” - ‘‘Whatisthat tome?’ . , “ Yes, they meant to hang her. Why, it waa only last month that they hanged a sow.» The hangman likes that—he eats the meat after Hang my prett ali! Poor, dear, little lamb !"’ | “ Malisons upon thee!”’ cried Dom Claude “Thou thyself art the hangman. means, dolt, liast What thou devised for saving her? Must one tear thine ides ¢ from thee with pincers ?’’ * Gentiy, master, I will tell you,” ' Gringoire beut his lips.to the archdeacon’s ear, and whispered very softly, at the same time casting an un- easy look trom one end of the street, to the other, eR, oe a ey apie me om » When he had nis om Claude graspe hand, and coldly, ‘Good! to-morrow ra , . ng apa ‘To-morrow,’ repeated Gringoire, The archdeacon retired one way, while he went the other, saying to him- self, inan undertone; “A rare business this, Ecaiear Pierre Gringoire! No matter! It shall not said, that because one is little one shrinks Fn ay po takings. Bito carried a full-grown bull upon his shoulders ; the wagtail, the nightingale, the swallow cross the ocean,” { CHAPTER II. TURN VAGABOND,. THE archdeacon, on his return to the cloisters, found his brother Jehan waiting for him at the door of. he youth had amused himself, while wait- his cell. . ing, by drawing with a piece ot charcoal upon a profilé of his elder brother, enriched with mous nose. Dom Claude scarcely looked at Jehan; his thoughte were otherwise engaged.” The reckless, joyial counte- nance ot Jehan, the radiance of which had so often re- stored serenity to the gleomy oh bede omy of the pricst, Was now incapable of dispelling t which supa daily over his corrupt, mephitic, and Stay- “Brother,” said Jehan, shyly,“ I am come to see the wall an enor- you.” “What then ?’’ resumed the archdeacon, without so much as lifting his eyes to him. “ Brother,” resumed the young hypocrite, “ you arc so kind to me, and give me such, good advice, that 1 cannot stay away from you.” By “What then ?’ repeated Dom Claude. “ Alas, brother! you had. great reason to siy to me, ‘Jehan, conduct yourself discreetly ; Jehan, attend to your studies ; Jehan, pass uot the night out of college, without legitimate occasion and the leave of the mas- ter. Beat not the Picards. Rot not, like an wnlettered ass, Upon the straw school. Jehan, submit to punish- nient at the discretion of the master. Jehen, yo to chapel every evening : and sign an anthem, with collect and prayer, to the blessed Virgin Mary.’ Ab! what excellent counsels were these !’’ “ What more ?” “ Brother, you see before you a sinner, a grievous sin- her, @ wretch, a libertine, a criminal, a reprobate. My dear brother, Jelian has tredden under foot your gra- cious counsels like straw and litter. Severely am I punished for it; God Almighty is rightly just. So long as L had money I made terry, revels in folly, ithe philosophers, Hecateus among the historians, | and led a joyous life, How facinating is debauchery CORMIE HQC) °S we hands. : a ; j 4 —_ (El) S